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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783361">Miðsvetrarblót</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/adarbitrium/pseuds/adarbitrium'>adarbitrium</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Assassin's Creed - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Explicit Sexual Content, F/F, Fluff and Smut, Gay Disaster Eivor, Mentions of Sigurd - Freeform, Oral Sex, Top!Randvi, Yuletide-ish, listen they're IN LOVE</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:54:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,571</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27783361</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/adarbitrium/pseuds/adarbitrium</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>"What is all this, my love?" Randvi asks as she looks around, her voice barely above a whisper, the endearment rolling of her tongue with treacherous ease. The room is bathed in candlelight and smelling of mistletoe and mead.</p><p><b>OR;</b> Eivor just wants to spread some Yuletide cheer <strike>and maybe Randvi's legs</strike>.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Eivor/Randvi (Assassin's Creed)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>352</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eivor has made herself scarce since the incident with Gudrun and Holger. Upon returning from her alliance-seeking adventures, she usually stayed around Ravensthorpe for a few days, catching up with their fellow clansmen and clanswomen, aiding them if they needed her help with anything, making plans and sorting resources for the next building so the settlement could flourish. Doing everything that should be their jarl's duty. Randvi always looks forward to those few days when they can exchange a knowing smile here and a wistful look there, even when she knows they won't lead to anything more, not with her husband around.</p><p>She hoped Eivor would stay a while before setting out back north for Eurvicscire, making up for the fact that she had to miss enjoying the Yule festivities with her clan. Randvi <em>hates</em> herself for wishing that Sigurd was… away—somewhere, anywhere—that’s not Ravensthorpe and asks the gods to forgive such thoughts that are becoming increasingly more frequent, no matter how hard she tries to push them away.</p><p>There’s no light coming from Eivor’s room that night. With a sigh, Randvi starts to count the days until her return.</p>
<hr/><p>The next morning there's a folded note sitting on the alliance map. Randvi immediately recognizes Eivor's scribbles, the lines of the runes flowing in a way that's too delicate for the hand of a mighty drengr, but too rugged for a poet's.</p><p>
  <em>Huntaheall. Tonight.</em>
</p><p>Randvi smiles to herself in the dim light of the morning. Huntaheall. She knows the place, remembers it from Eivor's tale about the children and the wolf—<em>Mouse</em> as she calls the friendly beast now. She folds the note with a sigh and turns to hide it in the chest she keeps the rest of Eivor's letters in (and for which she really should get a lock for from Gunnar). She gets back to the alliance map with a girlish spring in her step and tries to busy herself with planning their next moves, but the anxious tapping of her index finger echoing back from the table quickly becomes too distracting. So, she decides to take a walk around the settlement, her eyes unconsciously seeking out her lover even as she discusses their new trade partnerships with Yanli outside her shop. After a chat with Hytham about the remaining order members, she comes to realize there's nothing that would ease her anxious mind, she can only resign herself to waiting. And so she waits for the sun to finally set behind the hills.</p>
<hr/><p>She sneaks out of the longhouse under the veil of darkness, a tinge of guilt rising in her as she thanks the gods for the fact that her husband is not in their bedchamber, most probably trying to make sense of his visions with Basim somewhere—which was the case on most nights since he came back and, in all honesty, even before that. There's still light coming from most houses, the people of Ravensthorpe having retreated inside from the chilly winter air. Still wanting to minimize the risk of being seen, Randvi pulls the hood of her cloak tight around her head.</p><p>The road leading up to the small hill is muddy and slippery after several long days of rain, but when she's well out of sight, Randvi can't stop her feet from speeding up to an easy run. She feels her heart swoon as she gets closer, a plunging sensation inside her and she wonders if this is what real <em>love</em> is supposed to feel like. She stops when the abandoned cottage comes into view, its windows completely dark.</p><p><em>Maybe she got held up somewhere,</em> she thinks to herself, then starts to cautiously walk towards the door.</p><p>She's about to knock when she notices the narrow gap, not even a <em>linje</em> wide, between the window and whatever is covering it from the inside. She leans closer and peeks through the small slit of light, wanting to make sure that this is not some kind of elaborate trap after all.</p><p>And then she sees <em>her</em>.</p><p>Eivor’s sitting on a fur blanket, her usual armor gone, replaced only by a red tunic and loose breeches that cover her only down to her knees. A smile tugs on Randvi's lips at the sight as her heart swells with affection. To see the Wolf-Kissed like this, so defenseless and unguarded, is no doubt a privilege and she revels in it. Eivor's poking the fire in the hearth with a stick, her brows slightly furrowed, clearly lost in her thoughts.</p><p>Randvi knocks then, but she doesn't wait for the answer and lets herself in. Eivor's on her feet in a blink, her right hand darting to grab her axe from the floor and ready to pounce when she sees that it's indeed Randvi and not some poor fool who happened to wander into the wrong place at the wrong time. They lock eyes for a moment, piercing blue on stunning turquoise, until the cold heat of the sapphire waves they create start to clash and they both move in for a kiss. Their breath falters for brief moment as their lips lock, the world stopping for just the two of them and their moment, their long-awaited moment of connection pausing anything and everything else that could exist aside from each other.</p><p>Eivor opens her eyes first, their lips still connected, her hands still cupping the redhead's face. She narrows her eyes as a form of smiling without smiling. Randvi pulls back a moment later, her breath soft as she exhales her hot puffs of air down on her lover's face.</p><p>"What is all this, my love?" Randvi asks as she looks around, her voice barely above a whisper, the endearment rolling of her tongue with treacherous ease. The room is bathed in candlelight and smelling of mistletoe and mead, blending with the scent of thyme and coriander emanating from the pot above the hearth. The windows are covered with thick fabric to keep the light from escaping and betraying them. There are heaps of fur blankets on the floor, jars of mead next to plates full of ham, bread and cheese. A small Yule goat is staring at back at her from one corner of the room.</p><p>"I missed you," the younger woman says as if it’s the dumbest question she’s ever heard. "I tried to get back before the feast was over. I wanted to celebrate <em>jól </em>with the clan... with you, <em>ást min</em>. But I had to deal with The Vault and Ricsige and Hjorr and—I know you can't stay long, with Sigurd back, but I—I just wanted to—see you before I leave for Eurvicscire."</p><p>Randvi finds the stuttering and soft voice utterly endearing. Eivor's voice is usually confident and firm, but that seems to dissipate when it's just the two of them; her poetic and disarmingly charming stanzas reserved for the letters she sends from lands far away.</p><p>"Thank you, Eivor," she says after a heavy moment, almost uncertainly. She isn't quite sure how to handle people when they treat her with such kindness, like she really matters, like she isn't just the wife of their clan's jarl, but her own person. Like they care about her thoughts and feelings and wants. It throws her off guard and she takes a second before pulling Eivor in for another quick kiss, the taller woman looking at her with so much adoration she almost melts there on the spot. "It's wonderful."</p><p>Eivor smirks and as her fingers begin to fiddle with the clasps and studs on Randvi’s cloak, urging her to take the garment off. “I'm starving, shall we?” and it's said so dramatically that Randvi has to laugh out loud, a sound of genuine bliss she can't seem to mute. Eivor is very good at that. At making her laugh, making her <em>want to</em> laugh. And the most wonderful part is that she does it for no other reason than to make her smile. Randvi grins in return before shrugging off her heavy cloak, tossing it onto the dining table at the side where Eivor’s armor is laying around and follows her lover to the makeshift bed of fur blankets next to the hearth.</p><p>They talk through the meal and it's easy and light. Eivor doesn't ask about her brother or even hint that she wants to. Her focus is entirely on Randvi. If she likes the things she prepared—especially the rabbit stew she made herself—or if the fire is warm enough for her. In turn, Randvi asks Eivor about her adventures, the friends and the foes she has made on her journeys, the distant places she has seen.</p><p>She's a veritable vision as she recounts her tales in the warm light of the candles. Her profile is perfect; smooth forehead, precise eyebrows and sea-colored eyes that Randvi wants to drown in. Her eyes wander along the scar on her cheek to the top of her nose, not really paying attention to her story about having to chase a little boy in hopes of a toy goat. Eivor's mouth curls into a smile as she recalls the incident in Jorvik, lips weather-worn but still wonderfully soft and inviting. Dark pink, almost red in in the firelight, and a little swollen from Randvi's attention. As her gaze travels over the face of this mighty drengr, her stark jawline, her chin, her throat, Eivor swallows a single blackberry and Randvi unconsciously observes the muscles in her neck, moving slowly and deliberately.</p><p>With the tale told and the stew mostly gone, Randvi relaxes into the silence that falls upon them now. Even the rain has stopped outside, so the only noise the room is her breath and the breath of the woman beside her. Eivor's body is warm and pressed to hers and Randvi wishes more than she ever wished for anything that she could just stay there until Ragnarök comes.</p><p>And suddenly Randvi utterly forgets how to breath.</p><p>She doesn't know how other people can be in Eivor's presence every day and be completely unaffected. Surely everyone who knows her must be in love with her because she is head over heels in love with her herself, has been for a while, and by the gods, that's dangerous, so dangerous and <em>wrong</em> and just right. But she can't help it. Her hand sneaks under Eivor’s tunic and brushes across her smooth stomach, stopping just between her breasts as she moves to straddle her.</p><p>Eivor immediately leans to the side to put down her jug of mead. When she moves back to face Randvi, her hands start to draw circles on her thighs. Randvi bends down to kiss her lover, liking how she feels a little taller when they’re like this, her hands moving up and down Eivor's tattoo and scar covered sides. She squirms from the way Eivor's hands are moving from her thighs to her ass, caressing and palming her as if she can't get enough. She presses a kiss to the Raven curling around Eivor's ear, whispers a promise, then trails her lips down along her face to the scar on her neck, a little breathless.</p><p>They strip each other quickly; it's so familiar now—the curve of Randvi's breasts as she pulls off her tunic and undertunic, the flare of Eivor's hip revealed as she unties the string holding her breeches and shoves it down—and Randvi is hungry for it after so long without.</p><p>Stretched on the candle-lit blankets, Eivor's skin looks like it's being licked by the flames of Muspellheim, absorbing whatever light there is in the deep darkness of the night surrounding them. Randvi takes her time and traces small patterns around the curves her breasts, careful not to let her tongue brush over the tip, where she knows Eivor is the most sensitive. Instead, she licks just close enough to make the warrior writhe under her touch, groaning as she continues her agonizing path from her chest to the taut muscles of stomach. She presses hot, open mouthed kisses along the flat of her belly before pushing her legs apart, pressing her mouth between her thighs, desperate to taste her, match the reality to the memories she treasures deep in her mind to keep her warm on lonely nights.</p><p>But it's only <em>miðnótt</em>.</p><p>And Randvi’s just getting started…</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>So, this wrote itself in like 3 hours, all mistakes are mine. Might fuck around and add a second chapter that's fluff and smut, but without the fluff. Come scream at me and send me prompts for these two <a href="http://valhalla-s.tumblr.com/">@valhalla-s</a> on Tumblr. Mouse warriors we ride at dawn!</p><p>And to the person who asked how to say "my love" in Old Norse on Reddit: I see you and I appreciate you, my guy.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. II</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <em>Ann ek svá konu mans at mér þykkir kaldr eldr.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>En ek emi vinr vifs þessa.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>The first thing Eivor noticed about Randvi when Styrbjorn had first brought her to Fornburg was her lips. Well, not the <em>very</em> first thing, per se. That'd been her flaming red hair, contrasting against the white snowflakes landing on the top of her head. But after that, it had definitely been her lips and the fact that she never smiled. Not that it surprised Eivor—she knew there was little to smile about being gifted as a peace offering to an enemy clan—but her lips hooked her attention, reeling her in until she was flailing like a fish on the end of a line. After the initial stages of feigned indifference and slowly, but surely crumbling denial, she made it her mission to make Randvi smile, to make her feel welcome in the Raven Clan.</p><p>She'd been ravaged by the sight of them ever since. It fills her up with pride to know that she's the reason behind her smile and she can't resist them when she pouts. The slight quiver of her lips makes her knees want to give out. She loves her lips when she talks, but if she isn't careful enough, she ends up gazing at her mouth without actually processing a single thing she's saying. Even though she <em>wants</em> to hear what Randvi has to say, as it's almost always something meaningful and important.</p><p>And when Randvi's lips devour hers as they do right in this second, Eivor doesn't know how the Hel she's not supposed to lose her mind. But it’s not like she is too keen on staying sane. All that matters in that moment is that she <em>needs</em> the taste of Randvi's lips and that devilish tongue like nothing else in Midgard.</p><p>When Randvi releases her mouth with a soft click, Eivor's eyes flick down, widening in awe. Her lover's lips are redder than the depths of the fiery pits of Muspellheim, swollen from the kisses. Seeing them so close only makes Eivor want to wreck them even more. The obsession with wanting to mark her all over burrows in Eivor’s brain and turns her into a pleading mess in the dead of the night, eyes wide open as the flames in the hearth start to dwindle down. Perhaps in a different realm she would be free to leave the burning marks of her nails on her back, the imprint of her teeth on her shoulders, bright red spots along her neck. She can almost feel the ghost of that realm on her lips, the tingle of what could be. But alas, she’s not hers to mark and so she draws back slightly.</p><p>Eivor used to believe she had a good sense of self-control, but since that fateful night at the sunken ruins, that self-control seemed to run short whenever she was around Randvi. And it didn't take much to start her. Stealing a touch was reserved for fleeting moments that were too few and far between, but even just catching a glimpse of her smirking from across the alliance table, or noticing the way her ponytail swayed in the wind when she came out to greet her at the docks after a raid, Eivor felt herself squirming and wanting to crawl out of her skin. It was driving her insane, she was not some love-sick maiden, she was a Eivor Wolf-Kissed, <em>iron-fisted drengr</em>, she could control her impulses. She trained herself to keep them in check on the battlefields.</p><p>She reaches out, practically vibrating with the need to touch her, to bring her even closer, to slot her arms around her waist and breathe in the crook of her neck, absolutely scorched alive by the mere thought of tasting her. Does Randvi have even a sliver of a clue of how impossible it is not to love her? Eivor’s heart tears at the thought that she might not and she can only hope that she managed to <em>show</em> her during their trysts. She has no doubt that Sigurd cares—Eivor blinks and stops, banishing the thoughts of her brother to the very darkest confines of her mind.</p><p>She tries to sit up further.</p><p> “I just want to please you,” she mumbles, voice coarse and full of want, intensely gazing into Randvi's eyes, and crushes the redhead's lips back onto her own. Randvi receives her lips with searing reciprocation. The sweet taste of mead on her tongue is electrifying, and sends a hot, pounding ache to the center of Eivor's core. A firm hand on her shoulder pushes her back down.</p><p>“You did all this, my love.” She says and gestures to their surroundings, to the discarded plates, the almost empty jar, the solemnly cracking fire. “Now let me…”</p><p>Her words ease Eivor's mind just enough, and she relaxes, allowing herself to be gently pressed back against the fur blanket.</p><p>Randvi leans over her, reaching out to pick up a branch of mistletoe that’s laying around the heap of furs. She tugs a small piece off the branch by the stem and trails it teasingly along the curve of Eivor’s jaw, then down her lips, planting kisses in the wake of the leaves. Eivor shivers, a grunt leaves her as she sinks her fingers into to fur blanket, gripping it tightly. Randvi whispers something softly, her eyes burrowing into Eivor’s, almost hypnotic in their intensity. She trails the leaves along her neck, down her breasts, evoking a feeling of euphoria inside her head and heart. Randvi leans closer to watch as the leaves caress every indentation, following the progress of it with her eyes and mouth. She drags it down the indentation that runs down the middle of the muscles in her abdomen, swirling it when she reaches the dip of her hipbones. Eivor is desperately trying to fill her lungs with air as he watches the movements. Her back arches up from the ground, barely able to take in the leaves prickling her skin, the soft breaths, bursting along her stomach from Randvi’s lips, a couple of inches from her body.</p><p>Torture. It can't be described with any other word. Sheer torture and Eivor doesn't have a clue whether to beg for mercy or for more. But Randvi's dead set on the latter. She looks incredibly pleased with herself.</p><p>Randvi laughs as she lets go of the mistletoe. It's a sweet, loving laugh, only a slight bit smug, but it brings out beads of sweat along Eivor's neck and makes her heart swell up, too big for her ribcage. She can't reply, because Randvi has already turned her attention to her breasts, lashing her nipples with feather-light flicks that make Eivor feel like she's about to cross the Bifröst itself. It feels like forever squeezed into a burning minute when Randvi finally abandons the trembling tips of her breasts, leaving bright red marks in her wake, knowing that the canvas of Eivor's body is only for her to see. Eivor's vision goes blurry as Randvi keeps kissing her way down, sliding her tongue all over the runes on the flat, fluttering surface of her abdomen. Eivor can’t stay still anymore. Her hips jerk up, searching for something, anything.</p><p>The redhead pulls away once more, smirking breathlessly.</p><p>Eivor groans and her stomach flutters as Randvi bites at her hipbone and trembles. She's planting gentle kisses closer and closer to the apex of her thighs, but pauses when she reaches her destination, her breath warm against Eivor's skin. Her impish tongue slides through her center with gentle ferocity, eliciting a loud gasp from the warrior. Randvi slides hand closer to her entrance, humming in satisfaction when she's met with a pleasant wetness. “You really did miss me…”</p><p>Eivor squirms underneath her touch, lets out a low whimper when Randvi licks deeper and longer. The prospect of not having to worry about holding back their screams and hiding the moans only makes another wave pleasure travel across her entire body. Randvi’s tongue curls against her center, laps at her in a way that sounds wanton and dirty and utterly thrilling. Eivor grunts, legs jerking with the telltale signs of how close she is already. Randvi giggles when she spreads her legs further, the echoing of her laugh makes Evoir shudder as she gives in to the feeling as she buries her fingers in red hair.</p><p>The first bolt of pleasure strikes through her and she cries out, tensing as it spirals through her very core.</p><p><em>It shouldn’t feel this good</em>, but in the room that smells intoxicatingly of <em>them</em>, Eivor can’t seem to make herself not want this. She had tried to make peace with the lingering bitterness that always lurks in the depths of her mind. It’s not bitterness, so much as bone-deep, permeating guilt. The guilt will always remain, she knows that. It lays unyielding and heavy in her heart, right next to the place that remembers Valka’s warning of betrayal.</p><p><em>It shouldn’t feel this good</em>, she shouldn’t like it and it shouldn’t feel so <em>right</em> when it’s so <em>wrong</em>, but she exists only for these moments with her. This is the time when she’s truly connected to herself. She exists only on nights like this.</p><p><em>It shouldn’t feel this good</em>, her heart pounds in her ears, the beat of it hammering furiously in her chest. The thought of going back to pretending and hiding that none of this is happening overwhelms her. Her voice catches as she whispers tender admissions.</p><p><em>It shouldn’t feel this good</em>. It shouldn’t, but it <em>does</em>, Eivor’s so sensitive right now that she can feel all of it. Every single nerve ending is on high alert, ready to experience touch. Randvi’s body is so warm against hers and it’s just <em>good</em>. That’s all she can think about. The fancier adjectives won’t come.</p><p>“Gods,” she groans, unsure if the word sounds intelligible at all, or if Randvi can even hear it. From what Eivor can see and feel, Randvi is still engrossed in what she's doing, swirling and sliding and sucking. She continues to patiently lap at her, stopping only when she feels the last pulse spasm against her mouth.</p><p>Eivor trembles afterwards, is barely aware of Randvi climbing back up to hover over her, untamed red locks framing her face, the light of the hearth illuminating an ethereal halo around her form.</p><p>She can taste herself on Randvi's lips when they kiss and it makes her sigh, igniting a renewed desire in the pit of her stomach. Eivor curls one hand around Randvi's neck, dragging her down into a deeper kiss and slips the other down between their bodies.  Eivor should feel drained. Her eyes should want to roll back in her head, her limbs should want to sink straight into the soft fur underneath, she should be panting until she can finally breathe again and murmur some kind of praise. But Eivor isn't one to not return the favor, or to miss out on her turn after waiting (not so) patiently for it. She doesn't let the call of exhaustion settle in her bones, so she sneaks her arms around Randvi and rolls her over, muffling her squeak of surprise with a deep kiss.</p><p>Her body is warm and tense, and Randvi closes her eyes as she leans back against the blankets. The room is heady with the scent of mead and sex, and it makes Eivor feel drowsy and content and languid. She opens her mouth, is probably about to say something else when Randvi shuts her off with a bruising kiss. She tastes like butter and honey and <em>Eivor</em>, like the most delicious thing in all of the Nine Realms. She craves her, desires her, wants to savor every single piece of skin and flesh.</p><p>She is wet and slick as she whines into Eivor's mouth when she slides two fingers inside. Eivor twists her calloused fingers, curls them and strokes her quick and rough until Randvi is panting under her. She rocks up against her hand, trying to twist her hips in a rhythm that matches the glide of Eivor's long fingers. She comes before the tendons in Eivor's wrist even start to burn from the effort. Just a few strokes and she's moaning, spilling high-pitched and needy sounds straight into Eivor's mouth.</p><p>Eivor wipes her fingers on the fur and turns to find Randvi regarding her with a fond smile.</p><p>“I’ll miss you when you leave,” she says softly, her index finger twirling around the blonde braids that have escaped their confines. “I always do.”</p><p>“I—”</p><p>Randvi doesn't let her finish. She wraps an arm around Eivor, drags her forward until they’re a mess of tangled limbs. Eivor goes to her, cuddles up against her side, and falls asleep to the feel of Randvi's hands carding through her hair.</p>
<hr/><p>Eivor wakes to the cawing of crows outside. The fire in the hearth is long gone, chilly winter air seeps through the walls and it makes her shiver and burrow under the thick fur covers. Randvi is warm against her side, her hair fanned out over the blankets that surround them. Eivor places a light kiss on Randvi's shoulder, smiles when she murmurs in her sleep, twirls a finger through her fiery locks absently. Despite knowing that it would be the wisest and safest decision, Eivor doesn't have the heart to leave when she's still sound asleep, so she nuzzles her neck once more and settles back down.</p><p>She is floating, to have Randvi so close, to feel her so vulnerable, to smell her like this... Nothing will ever compare. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.</p><p>Randvi wakes not long after, pleasant surprise gleaming in her eyes to see her lover still beside her and they lie there together trading slow kisses, both too distracted and content and warm to leave the room.</p><p>“They’ll be looking for you,” Eivor says, voice still deep and husky with sleep.</p><p>“Let them,” Randvi replies, laughing as she kisses Eivor's collarbone. “I’d like to have you to myself for just one morning. As a <em>jól</em> gift.”</p><p>Randvi props herself up on one arm, reaches forward to cup Eivor's face with one hand. She brushes her thumb across the scar on her cheek, her expression happy.</p><p>She laughs then, draws the other woman in for another kiss, and when she pulls back, Eivor is staring at her, staring at this wonderfully beautiful woman for whom she longed for for years, traitorously hoping that one day she will know what it's like to have her. There’s a grain of inexplicable hope that blooms and expands in her chest, and it takes her a moment to realize that she’s startlingly <em>happy</em>, that she’s never felt more at peace than here in this cold, abandoned hut with Randvi.</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>I love that man’s wife so much that fire seems cold to me.</em>
</p><p>
  <em>And I am that woman’s lover.</em>
</p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>It's awkward to talk after smut, but anyway, the quote at the beginning and end is from the inscriptions found in Bergen that you can read about <a href="https://www.vikingrune.com/2008/12/runic-love-quotes/">here</a>.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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